


Crosshairs

by tantarted (tanyart)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tantarted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And from across the battlefield, the snipers will aim their rifles and smile at each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crosshairs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink meme. The requester asked for some sweet Sniper/Sniper lustings, and who am I to say no to that?

BLU Sniper knew he was a dead man the moment he caught the reflection of a red dot hovering on the _dead-fucking-dead_ center of his forehead. It took him way longer that it should, but the sun was reflecting off the broken glass of the window, glaring in his eyes, and when he finally did catch it, his immediate reaction was to duck his head, cursing and swearing and turning red with mortification.

And he knew what was coming—no sniper worth his salt would have let a shot that close go to waste—so he waited for that split-second pain, the moment when his head would blow clear off.

He had ducked, but only because it was obvious thing to do. Bloody wanker must have been sighting him down for the longest time without him realizing it—and why was he even thinking? He should have been dead by now, headless and kissing the ground good-bye.

He waited, but it never came. Not even a shot or misfire.

The red dot was now against the wall. Sniper wasn’t even sure if it had moved. Still crouched underneath the window, Sniper fished out a tiny mirror from one of his pockets and held it up so that it peeked over the sill. The mirror caught the sun for a brief second and he squinted into the reflection, sighing when he couldn’t see a damn thing. Too far.

It was one of those days that he decided to play it safe than sorry. Respawn only worked half the time around here and he’d rather not take his chances with it. Sniper swore under his breath and crawled down from the battlements.

* * *

  
Even though it was hard to admit, the RED’s sniper, to be honest, was a good shot. An excellent one, even. Sniper had seen the man down three of his teammates in quick succession once, and not once had BLU Sniper been able to get the crosshairs on him.

He had spent a lot of nights in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if the RED Sniper was really _that_ better than him. For the next couple of weeks, he started to keep track of the RED Sniper’s kills, and was unreasonably relieved when he found out that he slotted more REDs than what the other sniper got with BLUs. Or, that was what he hoped. There weren’t many ideal sniping spots besides the battlements of 2fort, so the loud claps of rifle shots were fairly easy to count.

Over time, BLU Sniper learned that his RED counterpart didn’t like to waste shots, which would explain the lower kill-count. It still didn’t make any of the RED’s shots less brilliant though, and probably emphasized each successful headshot. The RED apparently favored one-hit kills. Sniper could appreciate the efficiency, if not the loss of his teammates.

Medic, Heavy, and Soldier were making their way across the bridge, attempting to provide a distraction while Scout was escaping with the intel. Sniper watched over them, scope moving in a continuous sweep across the bridge and RED battlements.

“Right! I got it, I got it!” Scout’s voice crackled over the radio. “I’m comin’ over the bridge. Cover me, Snipes.”

It was only for a moment, but Sniper saw a red dot blink into existence on the roof of the bridge, followed by a glimpse of a rifle barrel poking out from the cracked boards on the RED’s battlements. Without pausing to aim properly, Sniper shot at it just to get the other sniper to withdraw while he grabbed his radio, thumbing the talk button with one eye to the scope.

“Scout! The other sniper knows you’re coming, get under the bridge with Medic and the rest of ‘em! Keep movin’ and he won’t get you.”

“I hear ya—“

And Sniper could see every detail of what happened next. Scout had taken his advice, making a run from the RED’s base on the ground, turning on his heel at random intervals to avoid sniper fire. Sniper had been pretty sure that the RED Sniper would have let the boy go. If moving targets were hard, then slotting a scout while he was dashing around was even tougher. It wasn’t the RED Sniper’s style to take multiple shots.

But when a spray of blood appeared on Scout’s shoulder, Sniper’s stomach turned. He could practically count the beats it took for the RED to reload—empty shell pinging on the floor, the slide of a fresh bullet into the chamber, snap of the bolt handle—and with the next crack of the rifle, Scout was bleeding on the dirt, clutching his leg.

Sniper counted the same three beats again and then Scout was nothing but a corpse with a hole through his head.

The RED had taken three shots. Sniper checked the enemy battlements again but found no sign of his counterpart. Three shots, one kill. He would have to think more on it, why it irked him so much, but only after he made sure that the rest of his team retreated safely back

 

* * *

BLU Sniper almost regretted that the respawn system had worked for Scout.

“What the fuck was that about, Sniper? ‘_Keep moving_’? Yeah, obviously, dumbass.”

Sniper raised his hands, trying to calm the younger man before a fight could start in the locker room. “I know! I’m sorry. I didn’t think the other sniper would take shots at—“ he shook his head, “—it ain’t his style. I thought he would’ve gone after Heavy—now don’t get angry, mate, everyone’s telling ya to keep those feet moving anyway.”

It was lucky that he been on the opposite side of the room as Heavy, but that didn’t stop the Scout from shoving him aside.

“The fuck do you mean about his style. You sit far away, you aim, and then you fucking shoot. There ain’t nothing stylish about that,” Scout snarled, leaving the locker room and slamming the door behind him.

The locker room fell silent. Sniper sat on one of the benches, mulling over the day’s events and frowning.

“How _does_ the RED Sniper fight?” Spy said from behind him.

Sniper’s frown deepened as he turned his head. Of course Spy would want to know, the fucking spook, and he couldn’t really ignore him, even if there was a part of Sniper that wanted to keep the information to himself.

“The RED Sniper is a one-shot type of guy. Probably hates reloading, fuck if I know. Every successful kill he’s had so far? One bullet each,” he explained, “Well, up until today, that is. He took three shots; one to slow down Scout, one to cripple him, and the last to kill him,” he numbered each point with a finger, “Shoulder, leg, head. Completely out of character. He would’ve waited for a headshot.” _And missed._

Spy took a drag from his cigarette, considering what Sniper had said. “Well. It doesn’t help me much, personally, but still I don’t understand why you are so happy about it, mon ami.”

Sniper hadn’t even realized he had been smiling.

“The damn bastard’s been watching me, that’s why,” he answered, the smile turning into a dark grin, “The three-shot style I told you about? That’s _mine_.”

“Ah. And you are angry, I suppose.”

“Not at all,” Sniper said, shouldering his rifle and closing his locker, “Just means I’m better than him.”

* * *

The truth was, BLU Sniper didn’t want to admit to Spy that he had been learning from the RED Sniper as well. He found that if he could be patient enough, a single headshot was well worth the wait, though he still prefer to put his fast reloading skills to good use—but it was nice not having to stock up on bullets so much.

It was morning when Sniper came up to the battlements to prepare for the day. He poked his rifle out from the window, resting the muzzle on the edge. He sat down on the crate, not too worried about being zeroed in on. The sun shone towards the RED base in the morning and he had learned that the enemy sniper rarely aimed at certain spots during the day, and depending on where the sun was in the sky, Sniper was free to stick his head out from time to time.

Drinking his coffee, he checked the bridge for any sign of the REDs. It wasn’t long before he noticed a shimmering form hanging near the entrance of the RED base. Sniper kept the enemy spy within view of his scope, but didn’t train the pointer on him. It was only two minutes before the starting bell rang. He could wait.

But Sniper hadn’t counted on seeing his counterpart climb up from the corner of their base with a rifle balanced over his shoulder and half his face covered with a cup of coffee. Without realizing it, Sniper had his scope focused on the RED. His instincts were screaming at him to pull the trigger, but he let the blue dot of his pointer rest over the other man’s shoulder instead, watching him walk from one end of the battlements to the other.

The RED Sniper finished his coffee just as the starting bell rang. He glanced up, somehow catching the blue dot on his shoulder. Sniper saw him freeze and that would have been the moment when Sniper could have, _should_ have pulled the trigger. If he had to explain himself to someone, it was like he owed the man. The RED hadn’t shot him before, so he was just returning the favor.

Still looking through the scope, he saw the RED Sniper slowly relax. The man looked straight at him, though the sensible part of Sniper’s mind said that the man couldn’t possibly see him clearly from that distance.

The RED Sniper was smiling though.

Sniper sat up, lowering his rifle. He knew the RED Sniper wouldn’t have been able to see him smirk in return. So, acting against all his professional standards, he waved.

And was troubled to find how happy he felt when his enemy waved right back.

* * *

It wasn’t called flirting when they were aiming their crosshairs at each other.

When the fighting lulled off during the middle of the day, Sniper would check the RED battlements with his scope, always stopping his blue pointer on the RED’s shoulder, maybe even wiggling it a little to grab the man’s attention. Red—he decided to name him—would always duck away, scowling at being seen. The same went for Sniper when Red caught him out in the open, whether it was just an arm or the top of his hat.

They would shoot at each other, of course. It kept up appearances, but the closest Sniper ever got to hitting him was when Red jerked the wrong way and the bullet nicked the collar of his vest. Sniper had immediately put down his rifle, heart beating way too wildly to enjoy the game anymore, but curiously got the better of him and when he looked through the scope, he saw that Red had removed his vest, giving a congratulatory salute with two fingers flicking off the temple.

Then Sniper started wondering if he could nick the shirt and trousers too.

* * *

It still wasn’t called flirting when BLU Sniper stood completely still, letting the red pointer run over his half-naked body from behind the broken window.

He kept an eye on his reflection in the dusty glass, watching the places the red dot would linger—his neck, his shoulders, stomach—and would suppress a shiver as it trailed downwards until the window would cut off at the waist. The danger of it was almost breathtaking; one slip of the finger, a pull of the trigger, and Sniper could be in a world of pain. No, this wasn’t flirting _at all_. Flirting was supposed to be playful and fun, and there was nothing playful about RED Sniper’s expression when Sniper looked through his scope.

Sitting on one of the crates, he waited for RED Sniper to put down his rifle, but the red dot was still visible on his face. He tried waving it off with a frown and finally ducked back down to retrieve his shirt on the floor. More silent cues and wavering pointer dots stopped him from putting it back on.

“Keep the shirt off, he says,” Sniper muttered, twisting the fabric through his fingers and wondering how long it was going to take before someone was going to come up and discover that he was—no, not flirting—_undressing_ before the enemy.

Checking his reflection, he wasn’t surprised to find the red dot still there. He could have been imagining it, but there was a strange tingling on his right cheek, like he could feel where the RED was looking at him without the pointer.

“You could shoot me now and it’ll still be no better than a kiss,” Sniper smirked, though his voice was going to remain unheard by his counterpart. “How long are you going to stare at my face through the scope like that?”

The red dot still didn’t move, but Sniper knew he was watching.

He tilted his head so that the red circle of light touched the corner of his mouth, and licked his lips, tongue flicking beneath the glowing dot. From the reflection, the pointer wavered and disappeared. Sniper laughed, lifting his rifle and watching the RED’s face color brightly.

They were past flirting.

“Just tell me where you want to go, Red,” he murmured, following the trailing red dot across the battlefield. He kept his blue pointer close until a shot rang from the RED battlements and a puff of dust showed where the bullet hit. Sniper glanced up with his rifle pointing towards the neutral outpost, quite a ways from both bases.

The red dot flickered back to his shoulder, questioning.

Sniper smirked.

“Good choice.”

* * *

They had enough sense to wait until the cease fire hours, though it had been a near thing when the RED Spy had snuck up behind Sniper within the last hour. With his kukri still wet with the spy’s blood, Sniper headed towards the outpost which was nothing more than a shack topped with a tin roof. Sniper could only remember visiting the place once and had dismissed it when he found that the vantage point was terrible. He didn’t think that it would actually come in handy until now.

The RED Sniper was already inside, sitting on a pile of wooden broads with his rifle across his lap. They silently stared at each other in the dim evening light, absorbing the details that their scopes had no way of picking up.

“You think we’d be sick of looking at each other by now,” the RED eventually chuckled, his voice tinged with a drawling Adelaide accent in oppose to BLU Sniper’s softer, British twang.

“It’s a definite step up though,” he replied, crossing the length of the outpost in three quick strides.

He stood over the RED Sniper, charmed by the way the man glanced up at him, patient and waiting. Placing a hand on RED Sniper’s shoulder, he bent down and pressed their mouths firmly together. It didn’t take long for tongues to be involved, though BLU Sniper was unprepared for the way the RED’s teeth ran over his lower lip, going down to his jaw and tracing the pathway where his red pointer had constantly went over across the battlements.

RED Sniper stood up, rifle clattering to the ground, and gently pushed him back, but in no way gently gripping on to his shirt. He let out a low growl against BLU Sniper’s throat, tugging roughly on the fabric. BLU Sniper undid the buttons of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, and tossed it aside. The RED made a noise of approval and leaned forward to bite down hard at the base of his neck.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to do that,” he said over BLU Sniper’s hiss before returning to the spot and laving it wet with his tongue.

“I’ve got a pretty good guess,” Sniper muttered, reminded of the way the red dot would hover at his shoulders. His eyes drifted shut, allowing himself to feel and be felt for once, instead of having to gaze across the field or look through a scope. The RED Sniper’s hands were steady, just like he imagined they would be, warm and calloused against his waist.

“You waitin’ for something, Blue?” the RED asked, finally showing a sliver of impatience. His fingers toyed with the button and zipper of Sniper’s trousers. “I always thought you were the faster shot.”

It was a nice way of putting that he didn’t like to wait as much as a sniper should. Sniper grinned, “Just letting you have your way with me. For now.”

The other man laughed, withdrawing his hands to remove his own shirt and vest. For the first time, Sniper noticed a light, jagged scar slashed across his chest that had gone unnoticed through the view of the scope.

“Well, we can come up with a compromise, right?” Red said, baring his teeth, “You teach me a few things, and I’ll let you in on a few of my tricks.”

Sniper’s felt the hot rush of heat through his body and he needed no further hinting to push the other man down against the pile of wooden boards. The RED grunted, bringing his leg up to hook over Sniper’s and making him lean over him. Their kisses grew rough and needy, threaded with quiet moans and choked gasps for breath. Using his gloved hand to brace against the planks, Sniper pawed at the RED’s pants with the other, nails raking over his hip.

“Off, get off,” Red growled, holding tight to Sniper’s shoulder while his free hand groped at his own zipper. Sniper relented, dragging his counterpart to his feet. No sooner had Red tugged his pants to his knees, he shoved Sniper against the thin walls of the outpost.

He could feel cobwebs against his back, a light shower of dust, as Red shoved him again only using his hips this time around. Sniper’s pants had slipped down without his belt—_when had that gotten undone?_—and it didn’t take much effort on Red’s part to yank it further down, exposing his stiffening cock.

The RED murmured something that was lost when he pressed forward with jerky motions. Sniper moaned, the sticky heat of both their cocks rubbing over his stomach almost too much for him to handle. His knees buckled and he was forced to put all his weight on the wall to keep from sliding down. Bringing his hand to the back of Red’s head, he wrapped his arm around the other man’s waist, nails biting deep into his arse and leaving crescent-shaped imprints.

Red had propped his arm on the wall, face twisted in concentration as he took their dicks in one hand, rubbing the pre-cum over the harden flesh. Sniper let out a low keen, too slow, _too slow_.

“Do you have—?” he managed to rasp.

The RED didn’t answer, breath too shallow until he inhaled sharply, “No. Does—aah, does it matter?” A smirk, and RED squeezed him with the calculated pressure of making Sniper buck up without throwing both of them off.

“Your bloody hands are too steady,” he growled, shifting his hips, and brought a hand to his mouth to spit in it. “Let me.”

The RED seemed more than willing to let Sniper take over. He took off his hand, letting it rest on the wall. Sniper could hear it scrape against the wood as it curled up into a fist. Taking both of them into his grip, Sniper worked his hand up and down their shafts, pausing to adjust his grip and tease the pre-cum from the slit of Red’s cock while he writhed over him.

“Christ,” Red swore into his ear, nipping and panting hard. “Always wanted to see how your hands worked, darl. Could never see you properly—”

“I’ll teach you how I like to reload—”

“—while you wanked off,” the RED Sniper finished, shutting him up with a bruising kiss, full of teeth and edgy growls. “Not what I meant, but thanks.”

“Not what _I_ meant either,” Sniper smirked, tweaking his fingers, waiting for Red to gasp and moan before dropping his hand away and simply rolling his hips forward. He brought his leg around the other man’s knees, keeping him in place while they grinded and jerked and shuddered.

And it was the RED Sniper who froze first, a faint whimper escaping from him and his fingers digging into Sniper’s scalp when he came, shots of cum leaving a warm mess over his stomach. Sniper felt his release soon after, rolling his head back and sinking down to the ground with the RED on top of him.

Still dazed, he was barely able to register the significance of RED bending over to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, cheek, and then the very_ dead-fucking-dead_ center of his forehead.

“I’m a dead man.”

“So am I, darlin’, so am I.”

  
**end**


End file.
